“Out of the bosom of the air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken…
Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression…
This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded…”
~Excerpts from Snow-Flakes, Walt Whitman
They predicted a trace of snow. Then a few inches or more, then not much of anything, then maybe an inch, and right about there, we turned away.
The weather man kept changing his mind. We expected this “One-Two Punch” to amount to little. Or nothing. Besides, we “enjoyed” snow and ice all last week–which is all we North Carolinians need to close up shop and call it a winter.
But before I opened my eyes this morning, my littlest charged at my bedroom window, lifted a shade, and gasped. “Mom!!! God is awesome…you know WHY??? Guess what Mom? He made it snow!”
I moseyed on over, past the energizer bunny doing circles.
Besides his sweet face, it was my first sight of the day–a lovely dusting of snow covering the whole backyard and soft, chunky snowflakes falling from the sky.
Today was like any other day, until I watched the sky rain poetry.
Puffy flakes have fallen all day since, more than 7 grand hours of air’s soft whispers, of snow piling up line upon line.
This afternoon, I stood out on the deck in my husband’s tennis shoes and let snow fall on me like fresh, white confetti.
I wondered, why does snow appear like shreds of wonder today? Like it’s been shaken from clouds like glitter?
Usually, I count snowflakes like curses.
I blame it on my childhood up north, where I endured enough snow for a lifetime. But who am I to complain? This isn’t my world, my sun, my clouds. Maybe I need to see snowflakes like Whitman, who called them a divine expression.
Do you hear the voice of God in the poem of the air?
I’m beginning to hear more clearly.
Standing out beyond these walls, I remembered the psalm I read yesterday. It says,
Be in awe before His majesty…Give Him the honor due His name!
The voice of the Lord echoes through the skies and seas.
So powerful is His voice, so brilliant and bright.
His symphonic sound splinters the mighty forests.
He moves Zion’s mountains by the might of His voice.
Seven times, Psalm 29 repeats the voice of the Lord, the voice of the Lord, the voice of the Lord. Known as the Psalm of Seven Thunders, it summons sons and daughters of God–along with all the hosts of heaven–to give God the glory due His name.
Whether our days usher in storms or sunshine, God’s voice echoes through the skies.
Some days white like snow, things are clear enough to see and hear it.